Could you please do Walter with abilities in the vein of The Fear from Metal Gear Solid 3 (basically stuff like cloaking technology in his outfit, arachnid like features, super speed, that sort of thing. More details on his abilities in the wiki entry. If there's something else you want to do with him, go ahead, I'm just asking as basically what I have in mind)?

He could barely see anymore as he watched Bryan take up the Walther pistol and aim it between his eyes, but he could still hear. Bryan reluctantly agreed to his saying the credo and apparently grasped the message Seth had hidden in it, then there was a loud pop. After that, a great deal of pressure, and nothing.

Seth Mattlock, also known as Boy #47, also known as leader of the Bloody Fists, was still at last. His breathing stopped, and the blood flow seemed to cease. The bullet had smashed its way through Seth from between his eyes, going through his brain and trying to exit from the back of his head, where it lodged itself into the hotel roof. Part of the back of Seth's head exploded because of this, causing even more of his sticky red blood to pool.

Seth was killed instantly, at 8:32 PM on day seven of the third official Survival of the Fittest program, the ninety seventh of one hundred eighteen students to die. His official cause of death was a gunshot wound to the head delivered by Bryan Calvert, and most likely that would be all the terrorists would report, ignoring the fact that it was essentially a mercy killing on par with the end of Marcus Roddy in the previous game in order to make it look more like betrayal than a matter of honor carried out between friends. However, in his final minutes, as the bullet to his brain killed him three minutes after the wound to his chest was inflicted, Seth Mattlock bore no ill will towards anyone but the masterminds of SOTF themselves, Danya, Steven Wilson, and whoever else was behind it all.

Back in Denton, two boys, a man, and a woman stared at the television in sheer disbelief. There were no words exchanged for several minutes, until the woman cried out a prayer to God and latched onto the man, crying hysterically at the loss of their son. The man held her close and had a hard time holding in his own tears, looking to the two boys. Nodding in understanding, both boys, friends of Seth and the only members of his gang that weren't fighting for their lives or dead already, left without a word. It would take them a long time to get over the shock.

In the same city, another boy watched the same thing happen. He was a Caucasian male at about 5'10 with a boyish face and brown eyes, and had short black hair that was blocked by the white bandanna he always wears wore. He was moderately well built, and he wore his blue jacket slightly open to show this, revealing a well-muscled abdomen area. The blue jacket he wore had the symbol of the Hellbirds gang, former rivals of the Bloody Fists, on it (the picture of a Phoenix surrounded by fire and the word "Hellbirds" written in a firey font under it) and green track pants that could be best described as baggy. He too found himself unable to speak, but eventually Alexander Stevens looked to the man sitting next to him.

"Diftre, can you get me my cell phone from the table? I want to make a call while watching this."

If one had to sum up Thomas Diftre' appearance in one word, it would be "tough". Allowing two words would have the questioned most likely say "tough" and "distinctive". His body was built like a heavyweight boxers', heavily muscled with the occasional scar (especially on his knuckles) while standing at exactly six feet tall. His face looked like it was chiseled out of solid diamond, rough and hard-edged. He allowed his nearly white blond hair to grow almost to his face, framing his brown eyes that are nearly black, but he was by no means effeminate (and would slug the first person to call him that). His fingers were surprisingly thin though, looking out of place compared to the rest of his muscular frame. He tended to wear a white wifebeater t-shirt and black shorts that go down to just above his knees, along with red and white sneakers, and had that exact outfit on right now. Despite looking much stronger than Alexander, and not normally the type to allow himself to be spoken to so standoffishly, but since he was the gang member and Alex was the leader, along with his personal admiration of Alex, he nodded and walked over to the kitchen of the dirty apartment.

When he took the phone and gave it to Alex, nothing major had happened on the channel they were watching, but Alex took the phone, turned it on, and dialed a number that Thomas was surprised Alex knew. Eventually a voice was heard on the other end.

"Hello, mister Mattlock?" Alex asked in a tone of grave seriousness, "Yeah, this is Alexander Stevens. I wanted to call you about your son..."

However, in the program headquarters for the current round of SOTF, a terrorist merely grinned smugly, took the newest report, and had it delivered to Danya. One of the biggest troublemakers back in school was now a cold, wet, corpse, just as he had always wanted.

A wide smile crossed Seth Mattlock's features as Bryan told him that he was a good friend. He appreciated that, as he had always tried to be in his own way. It had actually crossed his mind that he may have failed in that, trying to be a friend to all of the Fists. They were like family to him, every one of them. Of course, when it all came down to it, he had failed to do much to protect them when it mattered, though they didn't seem to need it really. His hand dropped to Bryan's shoulder before he started to talk, just because it felt a bit patronizing to have his hand on the back of his best friend's head.

"Thanks B...ryan. Means a..." once again, he started coughing and spluttering, blood now splashing at Bryan, "...it means a lot to me. You know, you guys, the Fists...y'all were like my family. N...not l-literally, but y'k-know how I mea-n, yeah?"

More coughing as Seth moved himself so that he was lying back down again, his eye now closed once more and his mouth shut. A few tears could be seen on his own eye, too. It was ironic.

"Oh god this hurts..." he muttered to himself, before suddenly taking a firm grip on Calvert's arm, "Bryan...I have rarely given you or anyone else in the Fists a direct order to do anything, but this is different. You win this fuckin' game, Calvert...that is my last order as acting leader of the Bloody Fists gang. I don't care who you have to fuckin' kill, you win this game, ya hear me? I don't want ya followin' me to wherever I'm goin' until yer old and grey."

Several seconds went by until he choked out what he said next:

"My supplies are at the front door...they're yours, so's the gun. Mariavel's in there, I saw her briefly when I was running to find you guys. She's turned into a crazy bitch, I don't know why. She was like a sister to me, but now...I don't want her going home. Not in the state she's in; she'd be dangerous to everyone, and the last thing Denton needs is another psycho running around with a gun. No, it needs someone who's gonna fight to stop the gangs, to bring peace back. Don't fight her here, wait until later, when she's weakened. Sounds cowardly, but it's good strategy..." he coughed again and moaned in pain, "Jack O'Connor almost won the last game by hiding in a fucking warehouse, after all...Madre de Dios, this hurts too much."

That had been the first time Seth had ever used Spanish in front of Bryan, but he had. He tried to gesture to his gun while he continued, but he could no longer raise his arm. The colour was already gone from his body, and his chest's steady rising and falling rhythm was starting to slow along with the darkening blood. He could barely manage a finger twitch in the general direction of the P38.

"I don't want t...tha...that bastard to have the satisfaction of having brought the Seth Mattlock down while he rots in hell. Please, Bryan, I'm beggin' ya here...finish me off. Take that gun, put one right between my eyes."

He had never thought that he would actually beg for death, but he would rather his best friend finish him than let a snake like the one that had just fallen off the roof know that at least he had brought someone with him.

God, give me strength as I leave this world and prepare to enter yours...

He opened his eye wide with what strength he had and looked right at Bryan, though he could no longer see him except for a faint silhouette. He would not die like a dog, looking away in fear. No, he would stare Bryan right in the face as he put Seth out of his admitted misery. Bryan deserved that respect.

"From the sack to the grave, always a Fist, and always a friend...in this world and the next, right Bryan?" Seth had intentionally used similar wording to when he had first initiated Bryan, and the other members, into the Bloody Fists. He hoped it would put the man at ease.

I don't understand your logic, Croco, and to be honest I ain't gonna try. v1's winner, for example, was determined by 50/50 diceroll, and Adam almost lost. Position in staff doesn't guarantee progress. Also, whoever told you Mariavel was immune to all rolls was lying, and if it was Mitsuko that could be constituted as an abuse of power. Your argument has little to no merit.

Seth had chosen only to reply to the last thing Bryan said, mainly to conserve what energy and air he still had, though he was glad that Tori had turned out alright, according to Calvert. Opening his eye and looking to Calvert with much difficulty, as even the opening of an eyelid and turning of his head hurt a great deal and his vision was very dark and blurry, he thought he saw the gang member crying.

So he did what came across to his failing mind as the best thing to do. He slowly raised his right arm, which was behind Bryan, and weakly cuffed his friend in the back of the head.

"C...cu 't ou', Calvert," he struggled to stay, more blood coming out of his mouth and body, "Ye wanna kno' wh' I diddin g...get there? Fuckin' got...lost." another cough wracked his body, "Passed out at first, th-thanks to that Walter asshole's beatin' on y...ours truly. Never was able to make my way there, by the third day or so I assumed you guys moved on and gave up."

With this revelation out in the air, he closed his eye again, his breathing getting more and more shallow as he left his hand on the back of Bryan's head, the grip surprisingly firm. He did not have much time left in this world, he knew it. Considering this, the strength in his next words was impressive.

"You are probably the one person in that shithole town that I truly could call my friend, Bryan, you know that? So stop kickin' yerself o'er someshit tha' ye can't change!"

Also, keeping in mind that there isn't a women's team in Southridge and thus she is legally allowed to be on the normal team, I do not think the administration (for example, the team coaches) are allowed by law to discriminate against a prospective player just because of their gender/ethnicity.

They seem pretty good, fortunately a lot more "normal kids" this time around than there have been in other games. It seems interesting, but I'm going to hold my opinion on that; can't judge everything by profile.

Name: Darnell "The Bull" ButlerGender: MaleAge: 19 (went to school a year late)Grade: 12School: SouthridgeHobbies and Interests: Football, for one. He's the fullback on the team, or one of them. He is also a star on the wrestling team, and trains intensely for both teams, hoping to get a scholarship to a good college from both. He can often be seen accompanying team captain Evelyn on her morning runs, though they both often joke about how he has slightly less stamina than she does. He then goes home to do several hours of strenuous weight training and other exercises, and occasionally trains at a local boxing gym (though he's had a couple of amateur fights, he has no intention on boxing professionally, his future is for the NFL and maybe Olympic wrestling, in his eyes). A rather odd hobby of his are films and shows from the seventies and eighties, having been born in 1989. He also likes classical music and sings occasionally (for a recent school talent show he sung "Vesti la giubba" from the opera Pagliacci). He's sometimes made fun of for this, but he shrugs it off, and would usually be one of the ones laughing loudest at jokes made about it.

Appearance: Standing at six foot even and weighing in at about one hundred eighty two pounds, Darnell Butler is not a very big guy. However, just about every ounce of those one hundred eighty two pounds is pure muscle, and he is very strong; strong enough, in fact, that in a football game he once picked up a 6'11, 300 pound opposing player and threw him to the ground, though this took a degree of effort and he mainly used the other player's momentum to his advantage. He has defined arm, gut, and leg muscles that almost look as if they threaten to rip right through his very dark, almost literally black (he's one of the few African-Americans who could boast that they actually ARE "black", if one were to be overly literal) skin, stretched taught over said muscle. His hair, usually in a buzzcut, is also black, and he has dark brown eyes. His facial features are overall "handsome", he has pearly white teeth and clear skin, along with high, pronounced cheekbones. His nose is slightly smashed in, as it was once broken in a fight, and he has a diagonal scar on his cheek from a fight in Freshman year when someone pulled a swiss army knife on him (side note; that student was expelled and is now in prison for attempted murder), but he doesn't mind. The girls don't either.

He tends to wear light, black clothing, usually t-shirts and shorts that go down to the knee, and he wears black Nike sneakers all the time (his favourite pair). On his right bicep is a tattoo of a cross, above which is written "In God I trust". While this all-black appearance might make him seem gloomy, he's actually a very laid back, friendly person.

Biography: "So, you want to know about my life? Eh, okay. Ya might want to sit down, kid, long story. Been around for nineteen years, after all. Anyway, I was born right here in Highland Beach, California, to two loving parents named Hajim and Mikaela Butler. Dad is a foreman at a local construction firm, and mom works at a computer company, customer service. You know, one of those people that's on the other end when you call because your computer messed up somehow. Between the two of them, we're a pretty well off family, a good family to be born into. Have to admit, I was pretty spoiled growing up, they cared a lot about me, still do. For obvious reasons, I can't remember much about back when I was a little baby, so I'll move on a bit if you don't mind.

Earliest I can remember very well was when I was about eight. By then, I had been into football for quite a while, so I guess my dad got me into it earlier. He used to play running back for the Southridge Rebels back when he was in school, I guess he noticed my interest and tried to get me into it. Both of my parents would often practice with me, as they know alot about the sport, and they told me anything I wanted to know about the game. Positions, strategies, famous games, why almost every position had the word "back" at the end of the name, anything and everything. Actually, I still don't know why almost every position ends with the word "back" but I don't really care. Dad didn't let me use his weights back then, 'cause at my age he was worried I would hurt myself and I probably would've, but he showed me some workouts to build strength and stuff like that, and I worked on those. I entered school a year later than most kids do, and the years went by with me training both body and mind; working hard physically and studying at school and at home. My parents believe it's important to be a very well rounded individual, so that nothing life does can catch you by surprise.

The years went by uneventfully, to be honest. I studied at school, practiced, studied some more, did some research into good sports schools, and occasionally watched some TV or some such with the family, but nothing special. By eleven, I knew I wanted to be in the NFL and get a scholarship to a good sports college, though I had also started taking boxing lessons at a local gym. Can't quite remember why I decided to do that, but I stuck with it, and it got me in pretty good shape, toughened me up a lot. I was already starting to get a strong build by thirteen, and was almost as strong as I am now when I was fifteen. I think it was a hormonal thing, but in my first three years of highschool I got in a lot of fights, and I mean a lot of fights. Seemed like there was at least one every day, especially in my Freshman year where it seemed like everyone took it on themselves to "break me in" or whatever. One of them even pulled a knife on me for whatever reason, but all he was able to do was give me a minor cut on the cheek that looked worse than it actually was; that guy's in jail now. After that cut healed, I tried out for the wrestling team and the JV football team, as that fight was particularly early in the year. With the wrestling team, I had actually been approached while the cut was healing by one of the wrestlers, who convinced me to use the pent up aggression I had at the time on the mat, I thought it was a good idea. Coach of the JV team thought I'd be better suited for Varsity after seeing my tryout, he claimed that he nearly pissed himself watching me, but I wanted to try JV first, until I had more experience. It was interesting being on both teams. I'd have to literally train in both constantly, even though their seasons were in different parts of the year, just to maintain my weight class and skill level in both. Constantly doing weights, building up strength, running, sparring, practicing drills, maintaining a diet, the occasional sauna visit, and studying hard in order to keep up with my school work on top of all that. Most of the time, I was completely exhausted after a day was done, and even then I'd occasionally get enough homework to keep me up most of the night. A lot of my Freshman year fights were probably caused by that fact, I was often exhausted and in a rotten mood because of it, so when some punk kid started causing trouble with me I'd be so irritated that I'd simply flatten him instead of talking things out. Never really had time for socializing outside of my teams at the time, most of the time I didn't give enough of a damn, and I didn't get along with the other JV football players or the wrestlers all too well. Regardless, both of my teams won their respective championships that year, and my efforts academically also paid off as I passed with pretty good grades. I spent the summer at several football camps to increase my skill level, and allowed myself to gain weight in order to move up a weight class. Whatever free time I had was spent studying some more so that I wouldn't get rusty, and I had an amateur fight that I won by knockout in the middle of August. Needless to say, the summer was almost as tiring as the school year was.

Sophomore year was a bit more mellow. I still got in the occasional scrap, sometimes I started it and sometimes the other guy did, but I was left alone more than I was in Freshman year. Usually fights in Sophomore year, as over the last year and the summer training camps I had calmed down and matured, were started by them throwing the first punch. They'd get all in my face, and I'd warn them to back off; if they didn't, sometimes I had to floor them. Literally at the beginning of the year, I was given a notification of my transfer to the Varsity football team, turns out that the JV coach had gone behind my back and had the Varsity coach accept me onto the team. I didn't have any idea about it until I got that notification telling me to report to the Varsity coach when the season started, didn't even need to try out or anything; technically I already had the year before. I met the team while reporting to the coach during the first practice. For the most part, they seemed like the typical football types, and they were pleasant enough when I was introduced to them, but I was very surprised when I found out the team captain was a girl. I'm not sexist or anything, and I know that boys and girls being on the same football teams is getting more common, but I just wasn't expecting it. Especially keeping in mind how small Evelyn is, smaller back then too. Nevertheless, and despite my natural protectiveness towards Evelyn due to the whole 'she's a girl' thing which I often had to restrain, we got along alright and did pretty well in both games and practices. Right now I can't remember how well we did that year, but whatever. It was otherwise more of the same from Freshman year, but fewer fights; the ones I did get into were usually because I stood up for some kid one or two of the team decided to pick on. Socially we got pretty close despite the occasional scrap, and I would easily call any one of them my friend. It also turned out that Evelyn and I have very similar goals in life; namely getting a good scholarship and getting into the NFL, it's more important for her because then she'd be the first female NFL player in history. Sometime right before the end of the year she had agreed to show me a training regime she came up with, though since I had an early morning workout geared towards both football and wrestling myself I simply decided to accompany her on her runs sometimes and then work on my own regime. It's stayed that way since.

Junior year was even more of the same, with even fewer fights and the fact that I started being friendlier towards everyone, but early on everybody was talking about something called 'Survival of the Fittest' and I'm not talkin' about Darwin's theory of evolution by natural selection here. Apparently some terrorists kidnapped a bunch of kids from their end of school trip last year and forced them into a contest similar to the Japanese 'Battle Royale' programs. I think it's bullshit, nobody would have the guts to do something like that to the USA, and nobody has enough lack of a conscience to do it and sleep at night either! I'm sorry, I shouldn't raise my voice like that. Moving on, someone had a DVD of the thing and offered to let me borrow it for a while though he warned me that the cameras suddenly gave out for good near the end of the ninth day of the game, but I refused. That shit's just sick, even if I'm sure it's fake. Football team started cutting down on their bullying, since by then I had pretty well made clear that I wouldn't put up with that kind of thing, though it still happened occasionally and there was the odd fight. Still, in terms of sports and the like everything went well. Of course, that was until Tyrese got shot in the face. Sent a shockwave through Highland Beach, and was one of the only things that took that SOTF bullshit out of Southridge's mind. Naturally, my parents and I pitched in money for his facial reconstruction surgery, and even that bully Montezzo said he'd help out. I don't know how exactly, but he implied help in more than a financial way, none of my business though. Otherwise, Junior year was very par for the course, but balancing all my training and studying was far less tiring by then than it was in Freshman year.

Over that summer, though, I got another letter, this time from a very high up person in the school board. I thought something bad was gonna happen, but apparently I was wrong, practically had a fucking heart attack when I read it. All the hours, all my effort and sacrifice, everything had paid off; I had gotten my scholarship! I would have to keep myself at my level, which meant continuing my constant training and study, but it was a small price to pay. My body was so used to it that it was like breathing anyway. Man, I can tell you right now I've been as high as a damn kite since I got that letter. This year I haven't really had much of a problem with anybody, all I've been concerned with is keeping my grades up and graduating peacefully so that I wouldn't risk gettin' in any trouble that would risk that scholarship. I've been goin' after it for most of my life, I'm not gonna let some stupid fight or something ruin it when it's so close. That's pretty much it though, sorry for bein' so long winded. Peace out, man."

Advantages: As mentioned before, he is extremely strong. He is also almost as quick as Evelyn, and skilled in hand to hand combat due to being on the wrestling team as well as his occasional boxing training. He has a high pain tolerance, and has a team full of friends to help him in the game, if they can be trusted. His laid back attitude makes it easy to make friends, as he's very approachable, while his literally almost black skin and his tendency to wear black allows him to blend into dark environments easily. Everyone in Southridge knows he is trustworthy, as well. He is surprisingly intelligent and will be very determined to survive and get back home. It's common knowledge that picking a fight with him is one of the stupidest things a Southridge student could do, so he may even face the scenario of people being reluctant to attack him or even actively avoiding him.Disadvantages: He has the odd habit of randomly whistling "Suicide is Painless", which could give him away if he's trying to be stealthy. He may trust his fellow team-mates too much for his own good, since each one of them is a good friend of his, and wouldn't even think of harming Evelyn or any other female on the island. On that note, he will literally go berserk if he sees someone hurt a woman, maybe enough to try to kill them; a potentially deadly weakness. He has no experience with guns and does not have medical training. In school, Darnell always opposed the football team's occasional bullying of the weaker students, to the extent that he even fought some of them sometimes. That could be a source of friction between the team, especially if most of them decide to play, which will provide a strong moral crisis for him. He trusts just about every Southridge student and doesn't think any of them, not even the football team, are capable of slaughter on SOTF's scale, so the first time he meets a "player" of the game will be a big shock for him.

Before Bryan helped Seth into a sitting position, that is to say physically pulled him up into one and eliciting a surprisingly low and hoarse grunt of pain from the gang leader, Mattlock had been perfectly still except for the occasional weak movement of his chest as he struggled to breath, his eye closed in an attempt to stop the feeling that the world was spinning and his massive headache. Everything hurt, but he heard Bryan's voice nearby, for some reason the knowledge that his best friend in this world was alright despite the earlier crisis comforted him.

"Hey B...Bryan, ol' pal. Licked tha' bastard good, diddin' we?" he asked, cracking open his eyes and turning his head to look at his friend. The pain still wracked him, and he promptly turned his head back as he coughed and vomited up more blood, which hurt him even more, the blood now hitting the ground and his lap since he was in a sitting position.